


The Flood of the Tide

by TheDreamsOfTheAges (LadyOfTheSouthernIsles)



Series: In Veiled Moments [1]
Category: Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-21 00:22:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3670569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOfTheSouthernIsles/pseuds/TheDreamsOfTheAges
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p><p>Turnabout: Ross comes upon Demelza swimming in the sea. Set in the latter part of July, 1787.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this work._  
> 
>    
> Many thanks to [**DrakkHammer**](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DrakkHammer) too for the wonderful story cover above. <3

_Ross and Demelza were married on the twenty-fourth of June, 1787… It was not that he loved her but … if one overlooked her beginnings she was a not unsuitable match for an impoverished farmer squire… [and] there was now no mistaking that he found her desirable… [But] he wished he could separate the two Demelzas who had become a part of him. There was a matter-of-fact, daytime Demelza with whom he worked… This one he had grown to like and to trust… But the second was still a stranger. Although he was husband and master of them both, this one was incalculable with the enigma of her pretty candle-lit face and fresh young body – all for his carnal satisfaction and increasing pleasure… It was unsettling in the day, in moments of routine and casual encounter, to get some sudden reminder of the young woman who could somehow call herself into being at will, whom he took and owned, yet never truly possessed…  
      _ -   Winston Graham, _Ross Poldark_ (Novel 1), Book 3, Chapter 1.

 

A raucous cawing rose up from somewhere below on the beach. Startled out of his daydream, Ross swung his head round and looked towards the sound. There came then a whirring of wings, more furious screeching, and then a grey flurry of gulls appeared over the grassy rise of the cliff. Ross shaded his eyes against the noonday sun. _What's upset them so_ , he wondered idly as he watched them swoop and wheel in the clear, summer sky. His mount shifted restlessly beneath him. "Easy, girl," he murmured. Leaning forward in the saddle, he patted the horse's neck.

As the cries of the gulls died away, he heard another sound – one which made clear the reason for the birds' agitation. A series of full-throated barks. _Garrick,_ he deduced with a wry twist of his lips. Given the proximity of Nampara, it was a not unreasonable conclusion. The lumpish creature had obviously found new quarry to torment today. Ross silently wished the gulls luck and started to turn his horse around, to head back to Wheal Leisure and the work awaiting him there. It suddenly occurred to him that where his wife's sorry excuse for a dog was then there also might be Demelza herself.

He'd missed her this morning… had reluctantly foregone the last opportunity to enjoy her womanly charms before the day started in earnest. Today, maybe the next, they'd have enough copper for a consignment and so this morning, for the first time in more than three weeks, he hadn't roused her with kisses, hadn't pleasured her into waking and taken his own pleasure in return. Instead, he'd averted his eyes from her soft, inviting form and dressed noiselessly. A slice of cheese and a roll of bread had sufficed to break his fast, and then he'd headed for the mine. Yes, he'd missed her this morning.

With a light press of the knees and a small tug on the reins, he turned his horse towards the beach path. The least he could do was seek her out. Bid her good day if she was about.

… …

Demelza walked out of the waves and onto the warm sand. Lifting her face to the sun, she breathed in the sharp tang of salt spray. From further down the beach there came the faint cawing of gulls. And a dog barking. Not being inclined to swim with her that day, Garrick had obviously found some other way to amuse himself. _Pity the poor gulls_ , she thought with a quick grin.

She turned around and took one last look at the glittering sea. Another few minutes and she'd have to head home even though her thin, cotton shift was soaking wet. No matter. She could wring it out, walk a little way too before she put her dress back on over the top of it. The hot, summer sun would take care of the dampness and she was not likely to meet anyone. She had daydreamt just a bit too much this morning, gone swimming just now also. As a result, there was a considerable amount of work still to be done at Nampara. It should all be finished before Ross returned home else he'd be thinking she was as lazy as Ludlow's dog. Demelza's lips curved into a dreamy smile. _Ross. Her husband…_

Though she was in good spirits now, her usual sunny disposition had been dimmed that morning when she awoke to find him already gone. She'd become accustomed to waking to his kisses, to the warm, solid weight of his body on hers, and she had missed him. But she knew he was needed at the mine, now more than ever seeing as they were so close to finally making a return from it. Besides, it was probably no bad thing to be able to catch up on some sleep. Since their marriage almost four weeks ago, she had not gotten as much as she was used to. Her smile grew wide at the thought.

Hugging her arms to her chest she skipped back, away from the dying surge of water that rushed at her feet. Nothing could increase her happiness at present unless it was her husband himself.

 


	2. Chapter 2

As Ross guided his horse down the steep, winding path to the beach, he reminded himself that he _should_ be going back to the mine but his thoughts remained stubbornly fixed on his wife – on the idea of saying hello to her – and so he stayed his course. In any event, it would not take long – a quick 'good day' and he could return directly. He also knew that if she _was_ about she would be disinclined to linger herself, having work of her own to attend to. She had been a capable and conscientious servant, and now, as mistress of Nampara, she set her standards even higher. Much to Jud and Prudie's disgust.

A small frown creased Ross's brow. Demelza's load would be undeniably lighter if she wasn't forced to spend so much time chivvying those two miscreants and picking up their slack. Still, she was making inroads even there. The Paynters – once above her in station, to their way of thinking – were no longer sulking quite so much over the change in pecking order, thanks largely to Demelza giving them more credit than was their due for the role they had played in her meteoric rise. Ross's look turned sardonic. Jud and Prudie had, in fact, played no role whatsoever, and so on that score were owed precisely nothing. His wife was far too generous by half.

He spied her then, away up the beach. A small, distant figure standing in the surf. His lips curled in a lazy smile; his instincts were true and he would have the pleasure of exchanging a few words with her after all. He was on the final leg of the path now and, lulled by the heat of the day and the swaying motion of his mount, his thoughts soon settled on some of the other, more intimate ways in which she showed her generosity. _He might be persuaded to spare her a kiss too_ , he decided presently.

Another bark caught his attention. It came from over in the furze, to the left of the path. Sure enough, there was Garrick, sniffing around in search of something else to bother. The dog must have sensed Ross's eyes on him because he suddenly stopped and looked up. Ross read the calculation behind that hesitant, canine gaze. _Did he sit by obediently and wait for his master's command or did he ignore the master altogether and return to his fossicking?_ A flash of movement in the gorse decided the matter. Garrick forgot about the master in an instant and took off straight up the hillside after a rabbit. Filled with an uncustomary lightness of heart, Ross threw back his head and laughed. He knew a lost cause when he saw one, and made no effort to call the dog to heel.

He'd reached the soft sands by this time and as he rode, he breathed in the rich, summer scents of earth and sea – the smell of dirt and pollen, salt and seaweed. It being such a hot day, he had left his hat and coat up at the mine and was clad only in his shirt, breeches and boots. It occurred to him that he could do worse than follow Garrick's example.

They were at the high water mark now and the tide was still coming in. Ross kicked his horse into a gallop. In an instant, they were flying over the dark, hard-packed sand. He bent low over the withers and laughed again, exulting in the freshness of nature, the sheer joy of just being alive, as he raced towards the figure of his wife in the distance.

… ...

At first, Demelza heard rather than saw Ross's approach. She'd been bending over, wringing the water out of her shift, when she became aware of a dull, pounding sound. Straightening up, she looked around and gasped. It was Ross! Thundering down the beach on his horse. She thought for a moment that she'd conjured him up from the yearnings of her heart, and then she knew he was solid and real. Desire shimmered through her veins, settled low in her belly. He looked like one of the old pagan gods who were still sometimes worshipped in these parts, all wild and fierce. And now he was bearing down on her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: This chapter is the one which warrants the M-Rating on this story.**

 

As he neared Demelza, Ross slowed the pace and reined in his horse. A light sheen of sweat covered his body and he was breathing hard. He leaned down and patted the mare's shoulder whilst he recovered his breath. After a moment, he lifted his head.

And promptly had the breath knocked out of him again as he looked at his wife properly for the first time that day. For the Demelza who stared back at him was not the one he'd been expecting – not the matter-of-fact, daytime Demelza, with her ready grin and friendly face. It was the other Demelza, the alluring stranger of candle-lit nights, with a mysterious smile and dark, lambent eyes. Unsettling enough to catch as much as a glimpse of _that_ one during the waking hours... impossible to comprehend her under the blazing light of the sun.

He looked down at her feet, away from that enticing, disconcerting gaze. And caught his breath for the second time in as many minutes. She was clad only in her shift: a thin scrap of cotton, damp and transparent. _Of course!_ He had seen her in the surf; she'd been swimming. His eyes travelled slowly back up the length of her body, noting how the material clung to the long, slim lines of her legs, the gentle curve of her hips, and the rose-tipped tilt of her breasts which rose and fell with every breath she took. He knew how they felt in his hands, how they tasted… He shifted uncomfortably in the saddle.

Lifting his gaze to her face again, he discovered that there was still no help to be had from that quarter; the stranger continued to stare back at him, a siren risen from the sea. He took in the damp mass of hair piled atop her head, loose tendrils curling sweetly around her ears and neck. Her soft, pink lips were parted as if waiting for his kiss.

"Good day to ye, Ross," she called out then, the rich warmth of her voice rising above the soughing sound of the waves.

The way she said his name – it was like a caress. He couldn't think of a single thing to say in reply.

"I bin thinkin' of 'ee, husband," she continued. "Of how I missed 'ee this mornin'."

 _Husband!_ The effect on Ross was visceral. She was his to take, his to own; he could do more than kiss her if he wanted to. Lust bit deep. He'd missed her too. He became aware of the heavy thud of his heart, the surge of his blood. Muscles clenching, his body hardening in readiness…

The mare skittered sideways under him, unsure of how to respond to the sudden press of his knees. It was the excuse Ross needed to tear his eyes away from the vision in front of him. He wheeled his horse round, steadied her, and swung down from the saddle, keeping his back to his wife the whole time. Another few comforting pats for the horse, some deep breaths for him, and he felt in control enough to face her again.

Only she was still that other Demelza, and she'd moved closer now. She was looking at him too, much as he had looked at her just moments beforehand. Her eyes traced the sharp lines of his face and hard planes of his body before coming to rest on his hips, giving new life to the straining flesh beneath his breeches.

So much for contenting himself with a simple 'good day' and a kiss. He'd have a great deal more from her than that. In a few swift strides, he had crossed the distance between them.

"I missed you too, wife," he said, taking her into his embrace. Then he bent his head and slanted his mouth over hers.

Demelza sighed and wound her arms around his neck. Parting her lips, she kissed him back and pressed into the warm length of him, breast, hip and thigh. She had wanted this since she'd woken that morning and found him gone, ached for it just now as she watched him thunder along the beach towards her. _Judas!_ She'd seen the lust in his eyes as he stared down at her from his horse, and now her own burned for satisfaction. Without conscious thought, she started to circle her hips against the hard heat of his arousal.

Ross groaned at the exquisite sensation. She was soft and warm in his arms, and he needed to be closer. He rocked back against her, instinctively seeking relief. For a moment, he found it but even those pleasurable feelings could not satisfy him for long. His control had reached its limits; they needed more privacy and comfort than this open stretch of sand afforded. He broke off their kiss and set her back a little so he could search out somewhere more suitable. Her moan of disappointment was almost enough to make him pull her close again.

"Soon, Demelza," he murmured, his hands restlessly stroking her arms as he scanned the area directly below the cliff. "We need more… amenable surroundings for what we intend." His movements stilled and he flashed her a rare grin as he said that last.

 _Amenity be damned_ , she thought. She needed nothing more than him.

"There!" he said, nodding over her shoulder towards a small gouge in the base of the cliff. It provided a reasonable amount of cover on two sides and was as private and comfortable a spot as any they were likely to find here. Without giving her a chance to even look, let alone reply, he seized her hand and pulled her along after him as he strode off up the beach.

Demelza had to skip to keep up. By the time they'd reached the shelter of the cliff, she was laughing and out of breath. Ross had kept looking back at her every dozen or so steps as if to make sure she was still following though with him having such a tight grip on her hand, she didn't know what else he thought she'd be doing. That in itself was amusing enough but there was something else in his glances that made her unaccountably happy as well.

He stopped abruptly, causing her to stumble into him, and turned to face her. His hands went to her shoulders, to steady her, and the laughter died on her lips as the full force of his undisguised hunger hit her once more.

 _He can look at me like that forever_ , she thought. Her own desire flared back into life – a fluttering of butterfly wings, a wonderful melting feeling, in her chest and lower down. In no way diminished even after nearly four weeks' worth of satisfaction in the marriage bed and the weeks before that when they'd first become lovers. If anything, it had only grown stronger.

Suddenly, Demelza forgot how to breathe; Ross had let go of her now and was taking off his shirt. She watched, transfixed, as he pulled the coarse linen garment up over his head. He cast it aside and looked up at her again, seeming more than ever like some wild, pagan god as he stood there, bare-chested. It was hard to believe he was hers to call husband. Of its own accord, her hand reached out and stroked the light dusting of hair on his sun-bronzed muscles, just below the base of his throat. She liked to kiss him there too.

"Help me with my boots, Demelza." The words burst forth, startling them both. His voice sounded strained, even to his own ears but by God! Did she have any idea just what her touch did to him?

She looked up, uncomprehending.

"Help me remove my boots, Demelza," he repeated, more evenly this time.

Her brows knotted together in a frown; she knew how long _that_ would take. Longer than she liked.

"Judas God, Ross! Leave 'em on. I don't want t' wait. _These_ are all w' need worry about." Her hands went to work on the fastenings of his breeches. "An' if you want any _other_ reason fur leavin' things on, then think of it as preserving your modesty!"

He let out a shout of laughter at that. "There'll be precious little left of modesty by the time we're finished, Demelza, whether we leave anything on or not."

She shot him a saucy look and continued to work on his breeches. "Oh, I don't know 'bout that.

He sucked in his breath, whether at the wicked sparkle in her eyes or because her knuckles were brushing against his stomach, he couldn't say. Truth be told, he didn't want to wait either but he wasn't going to take her like a doxy with her shift rucked up around her ears and him still in his breeches and boots. He seized hold of her forearms to stop her, so he could remove said boots, but she had the fall front of his breeches undone now and his objections were forgotten altogether as her hand slipped in through the opening. He groaned and rocked into her touch. Burying his hands in her hair, he claimed her mouth again as desire thudded hot and heavy in his belly.

They sank to the ground, still kissing, and Ross lay back, taking Demelza with him. She removed her hand from his breeches and straddled his hips, gasping as she felt his arousal pressing against the soft folds of her sex. They both silently cursed the layers of material still separating them. Ross anchored her in place – one hand on her backside, his other arm lashed around her back – and pulled her down to his chest so he could kiss her again.

"Kneel up, Demelza," he ordered roughly after some moments. "Lift up your shift." Whilst she did that, he freed himself from his breeches. "Now sit back down."

She shivered at the hoarse note of lust in his voice and then shivered again as she braced herself on his broad shoulders and sank down onto the thick, hard length of him. He felt utterly wonderful.

"Would you not say your modesty's properly preserved now, husband?" she asked breathlessly once he was fully seated.

Ross had just been thinking how good _she_ felt and her words took him by surprise. He understood her meaning though and his shoulders started to shake with suppressed laughter.

"I'll admit it, wife," he managed to say, with more steadiness than he felt. "My modesty is well in hand."

"Well, 'tis certainly in _something_ , Ross."

He gave up at that. Pulling her down onto his chest again and hugging her tight, he burst into laughter outright and in the next moment Demelza was laughing with him. But being as intimately joined as they were, their mirth soon had other effects and their laughter quickly faded.

Demelza levered herself up and stared down at him. Her hair had come loose from its pins and tumbled about her shoulders. Ross thought she'd never looked more beautiful; they had waited long enough. He took hold of her hips and thrust up into her, revelling in the tightness of her body, in the pleasure she gave him. She gasped and threw back her head as exquisite sensation rippled through her. As it receded, she looked at him again, and he thrust into her once more. This time, she matched him and he was the one who gasped. And so the pace was set. Their movements were steady, unhurried at first as they enjoyed each other's body but as the delicious friction built and tension coiled, they moved with increasing urgency until only one thing would do for either of them. Demelza found her release first and as she clenched around him, Ross's belly suddenly pulled tight. He thrust up into her one last time and was overtaken by the pulsing heat of his own pleasure.

When it was over, when they were sated and spent, he gathered her close again and they lay quiet together in the aftermath of passion and the warmth of the day.

 


	4. Chapter 4

As had become the pattern in these early weeks of marriage, Ross was the first to move.

 _First to move, first to go to sleep,_ thought Demelza drowsily as he gave her a gentle shake and pushed the hair back from her face. She would have liked to lie here with him for a little longer, maybe talk for a bit.

"'Tis time to go, sweetheart," he said. "As pleasant as this interlude has been, we both have work to tend to now."

 _Sweetheart!_ Demelza went still; he had never called her that before. It was a casual endearment, she knew, borne of the intimacy they'd just shared, and likely unnoticed by him. Silly to read any deeper meaning into it. But even so... She buried her face in his chest to hide her absurd delight.

"Did you hear what I said, woman? Do I have to beat you to make you move?" The husky tone of his voice and his sleepy, half-lidded look were entirely at odds with his words.

Demelza made no effort to hide her grin as she stared up at him; she was well-used to his dry sense of humour and didn't take him seriously for one moment. "Mebbe y' do, Ross, but it don't look to me like 'ee has the energy fur such an undertakin'."

A lazy swot to her rear proved he still had energy enough for something at least. She yelped and sat up, laughing.

Ross quickly followed suit. _Keep the momentum going_ , he told himself; his wife wasn't the only one who was reluctant to move. He pushed up on his arms, lifted her off his lap and scrambled to his feet. After carelessly fastening his breeches, he snatched up his shirt, seized hold of Demelza's hands, pulled _her_ to her feet too, and then headed back down the beach with her in tow. It was all accomplished in a mere matter of minutes.

"I'm right sorry I said 'ee had no energy, Ross!" she gasped as she jogged along behind him.

With a short laugh, he swept her into the curve of his arm and slowed his pace a little. When they reached the rocks where she had left her dress before going swimming, he came to a halt. To her surprise, he threw down his shirt and began straightening her shift, brushing out the sea-salt and sand.

He caught sight of the unspoken question in her eyes. "You can't return home looking as you do now." He picked up her dress and helped her into it. After tying the laces and twitching out the skirt, he thrust his hands into the tangle of her hair and retrieved what was left of her hairpins.

Whilst he tried to restore some semblance of order to her unruly curls, she stood patiently in front of him, watching the pulse beat at the base of his neck… breathing in the scent of sea-spray and sweat – the scent of _him_.

When he had done what he could, he stepped back and cast a critical eye over his ramshackle efforts. "It will have to do, Demelza. I clearly have little skill in the art."

"Thank 'ee Ross. I'm sure you've made a grand job of it anyway." She couldn't help but wish he'd step closer again.

He reached down to pick up his shirt but she quickly stayed his hand. "Let me do it," she said softly. "'Tis only fair I return the favour."

He looked at her small, work-roughened hand lying on top of his darker, much larger one. His own was even more calloused than hers but then he had lived and worked for ten years longer than her so it was hardly surprising. He was not used to thinking of her as delicate but the contrast between them suddenly made her seem so. "Very well then, wife." He straightened up and submitted to her ministrations.

As she slipped his shirt over his head and guided his arms into the sleeves, Ross was struck by the oddly domestic nature of what they were doing. Although as his wife she obviously had a great deal of physical freedom with his body, he had not previously allowed her such small, private intimacies as this. He preferred to see to such things for himself when he left their bed each morning. It was unsettling to find himself reconsidering that preference now. Unsettling too to realise that he had taken a certain amount of pleasure in tending to _her_ personal needs. He glanced at her hair and frowned; he'd only succeeded in making it look like a bird's nest. At least he'd rescued some of her hairpins for her.

"Lift your arms please, Ross."

Startled by the sound of her voice, he looked down. She had finished tying the fastenings on his shirt and was waiting to tuck the ends into his breeches. He dutifully did as she asked and forced himself to keep his arms up as she went about her work. The temptation to hug her surprised him, especially when her own arms wrapped around his waist and she started pushing his shirttails into his breeches. He thought he'd done with all that, just now over by the cliff. But it wasn't a precisely carnal urge, he realised.

"You can put your arms down now," she said, breaking in on his thoughts once more. Her nimble fingers were on the fastenings of his breeches. "Seems a shame to be doin' _these_ up again."

Her tone was so matter-of-fact that he wanted to laugh. Biting down on his amusement, and the ready rejoinder which sprang to mind, he clasped his hands behind his back and turned his head to look at the waves whilst she finished making him presentable again. However, he found his eyes returning to her time and time again.

"There! You're as respectable as you ever were." She flashed him a satisfied look as she straightened up to inspect her handiwork.

The unintended irony of her words was not lost on Ross; few of his peers considered him in any way 'respectable' and that he'd taken his kitchen maid for his wife was only the latest affront to lay at the feet of his wild, reckless nature. Still, he didn't want to ruin her obvious pride in her efforts – her somewhat peculiar pride in _him_ – with a cynical observation on respectability. In the three or four weeks since their marriage, he had learnt that she set great store by it, and by _his_ in particular. Strange in one who could be so free-spirited and irreverent in other matters.

"Ross?"

She recalled him to his surroundings again.

"You can ride with me as far as the wasteland," he said as he looked over to where his horse was standing. "I'm going in that direction anyway."

He offered her his hand this time and they set off down the beach. She was pleased not to have to run to keep up with him.

They reached the horse and after he'd helped her into the saddle, he took the reins and swung up behind her. With one arm anchored firmly around her waist, he guided the mare towards the cliff path. They exchanged few words during the ride back. Demelza, enjoying the sun on her face and the solid warmth of her husband at her back, quickly fell into humming a merry tune whilst Ross tried to concentrate more on what had to be done at the mine and less on the charming bundle in his arms. She was more distracting than she should be.

They found Garrick rummaging around in the grass at the top of the path, and, with no more gulls or rabbits to be found, he gambolled along behind them. Once at the wasteland, Ross reined in his horse and waited for Demelza to slip down but she made no effort to. Instead, she twisted round and stared up at him, waiting for something herself it seemed – some parting words perhaps.

"Good day to you, Demelza. I'll be back for supper." He removed his arm from her waist and leaned back, clearly meaning for her to dismount now. A strange look flitted across her face. Disappointment? _At what_ , he wondered.

"I'll see you then, Ross," she said, and she slipped down from the saddle. She turned away and made to leave.

Her voice seemed a little flat. _Something more was required_ , he realised with a burst of insight. "I'll look forward to it," he called out after her. " And Demelza?"

She stopped and looked back. "Yes, Ross?"

"It was a pleasure to meet up with you on the beach just now."

His words had the effect he was hoping for; her eyes lit up with laughter and she broke into a wide, appreciative smile. She had taken the double meaning as he'd intended, and she was radiant again.

Stepping back up to him, she laid her hand on his thigh in an unconscious gesture of intimacy. "'Twas a very great pleasure indeed, Ross, an' not only fur you."

He looked down at her hand resting lightly on his leg, and then up into her laughing eyes again. The smile he gave her in return held its own edge of intimacy… and promise. "Until tonight, wife." And with that, he nudged his horse forward, forcing Demelza to drop her hand and move away.

"Until t' night, husband," she whispered as he turned and started back for Wheal Leisure.

… …

Demelza's smile faded as she watched him disappear from view. A parting kiss would have been nice. It wasn't that she was asking for his heart – though she wouldn't have refused it had he offered it – but he could surely spare her _something_ to show that he valued her as more than just a capable housemaid and willing bedmate…

Of course, there had been other small gestures today, treasures to hoard to her heart. She knew what meaning she would like to attach to them but just what meaning she _could_ attach to them, what meaning _he_ attached to them, she didn't know. Still, his parting words and look were all she could have wanted them to be, and they did have that between them: a spark of passion which blazed into fierce, stunning life in the darkness of night. _And now under the bright light of the sun too_ , she realised a moment later. Her smile returned in full force. Calling Garrick to heel, she headed for Nampara and her waiting chores.

… …

Ross was in an unusually light-hearted frame of mind as he started out on the final leg of the journey back to Wheal Leisure. His thoughts kept returning to the encounter he had just enjoyed with his wife and he didn't try overmuch to rein them in. Though he'd be behind in his work at the mine, there was not a shred of regret in him for his earlier, spur-of-the-moment decision to seek her out. He was only surprised that it was a decision so easily made. The image of her as she had first appeared to him – a living siren – rose up in his mind...

And that was when his mood took a turn for the worse. For hard on the heels of the siren, there arose another image – an angel, and one whose presence had been with him for so long now that it was impossible to imagine a time when it wouldn't be. He felt a strange sense of… he didn't know what.

During the years spent fighting abroad he had been loyal to Elizabeth, body, mind and heart, and apart from one single lapse – an empty, chance encounter with a woman named Margaret at one of the many low points in the months following Elizabeth's marriage to his cousin, Francis – he had continued to remain loyal to her after he'd returned home from America, though that was due more to inclination than intention. On the night he and Demelza had become lovers, some seven or eight weeks ago, he had set that inclination aside; he owed Elizabeth nothing, he'd told himself. He had repeated those words many times since but his heart still whispered otherwise sometimes. How far such whisperings were due to habit, again, he didn't know. And now he had a wife of his own, Demelza. He in no way regretted the carnal pleasure he found with her. She was his to take and his to own. And he was hers too, he was coming to realise. In some indefinable way he didn't yet understand, he was hers too… and it troubled him.

The day after he and Demelza had become lovers, Elizabeth, with a tragically or perhaps ironically flawed sense of timing, had finally picked her moment to visit him at Nampara. Ross was realist enough to know that her marriage to Francis would probably not have stood in their way but what _might_ have happened that day _did_ not happen – because Demelza had already stolen a march on his first love albeit it unwittingly. He had observed the two women side-by-side then, and compared them. Earthenware and porcelain, he'd thought. Out of consideration for the one he had taken as wife shortly afterwards – because of what he owed her as wife – he hadn't made the comparison again since his wedding. But now, today, after what had just happened, he could not help but compare the two once more... and it disturbed him.

For how could an angel, a creature of the spheres – how could _she_ compare to a living, breathing siren, risen from the sea, warm with laughter and the sun, who begrudged him nothing and offered him everything? How could an angel _ever_ compare to one such as that? It seemed that in the flood of the tide, old memories had been swamped, first loyalties swept aside, and Ross – a Poldark, and one of brooding temperament to boot – was not at all sure what to make of it.

… …

 

 _She had already grown into his life. That was what he thought. What he meant was that she had grown into the life of the house… a good servant and an agreeable companion. Under the new arrangement this didn't much alter… And now she was growing into his life in a different way. There was no going back for him, even if he had wished it, which he found he did not… But he was not yet at all sure how far it was she personally who was desirable to him, how far it was the natural needs of a man that she as a woman met. He wished he could separate the two Demelzas who had become a part of him… He felt he would be happier if he could separate them entirely. But… it seemed that the reverse of what he wanted was taking place. The two entities were becoming less distinct. It was not until the first week of August that a fusion of the two occurred.  
\- _ Winston Graham, _Ross Poldark_ (Novel 1), Book 3, Chapter 1.


End file.
